Fourth Thoughts

By Felicia Ferguson

Author's note: see part one for all details. As always, I own none of the dialogue from the show nor the characters. They belong to the amazing Martha Williamson, Eric Mabius, Kristin Booth, Geoff Gustafson, and Rob Estes. Enjoy!

Part Two

"You're the angel."

Oliver flicked a glance toward Ms. McInerney. She had arrived late, nearly an hour after her requested time. Had her delay been a way avoiding the prospect of the pageant despite her ready brainstorming last night? What then would she think about Norman's role assignment? Would her deep-seated anger with God scuttle their latest letter delivery?

Ms. McInerney's eyes widened. "No, no, no, I'm … I'm … helping Jordan design sets." Her quick parry rapidly disintegrated to borderline-panic in the face of no rescue from the assignment. She raised her hands as if to ward off the role. "I'm no angel."

Oliver's brows lifted. Apparently, there was still more that he did not know about her. Some imp inside him couldn't help but latch onto the realization and slice at her with wry, biting tones. "A very provocative thought, Ms. McInerney …"

Her dark, dismissive glare told him he'd gained no points, and he ruefully acknowledged she was correct in her response. The comment was not helpful toward the resolution of the business of the day. Perhaps a reminder of the greater good might soothe her alarm? For a successful execution of Hannah's pageant, all roles were required to be filled. "… but we must all … do our part."

Still desperate to avoid a forced ascension to the angelic realm, Ms. McInerney pointed to Mr. Marley. "What about him?"

His easy smile lifted, and he gave a quick shake of his head. "Sorry, I've got big plans for Christmas Eve."

Good. Oliver's lips twitched with satisfaction. Perhaps Ms. McInerney's fondness would dim as her hero of the previous evening also retreated from her offerings.

"Then it falls on you, Ms. McInerney, to be our heavenly messenger." He paused, of course there was another option. Offering it might prompt her selection of the angelic role. And with that thought, the chiding tone returned. "Unless you feel better suited to the role of … the Virgin Mary."

Rita sweetly offered the loaf of sourdough, and Ms. McInerney cringed then sent a searching glance between the group. Sighing her defeat, she relented. "Okay, I'm an angel." But in the next breath, she shot Oliver a speaking look and added, "No halos."

He took her tart tones in stride, raising a placating hand. At last, something at least somewhat reminiscent of their normal banter lay between them. Satisfied he had done what he could to once more restake his claim, he focused on Norman's distribution of the scripts.

But the discomfiting irritation returned as Rita directed Mr. Marley to help Shane build the stable. Oliver's head shot up from his study of the script, and his gaze zeroed in on Ms. McInerney's new partner. Mr. Marley stood silent, but grinned his pleasure at the assignment.

Oliver's pulse jumped, but before he could offer an alternative, Ms. McInerney's sharp teasing whipped at him. "Let Heaven and Nature Sing: A Pageant of Christmas by Oliver O'Toole." Her eyes glinted with the memory of his Virgin Mary comment.

His head bobbed as he reluctantly agreed the title was trite. And in truth, the writing was not his best work. But to be called out for it in front of his rival by the woman for whom they both vied stung. His heart clenched, and his previous lofty tones faltered. "It was the best I could do on short notice."

Rita and Norman breezed past Oliver's contrition, focusing on the remaining details. But Ms. McInerney apparently wasn't finished with her verbal salvos. "No rest for the postal, hmm?"

Again, the harsh joshing pricked at him and his professional pride. Perhaps he should have curtailed whatever inner imp had prompted his views on the role assignments. But he forced a smile and absorbed the blow. The pageant and the last letter were the primary issues of the day, not his personal concerns.

He smiled his pride as Norman pushed on his dark glasses and set off on his assignment. The maturity he'd shown when meeting with Matt and Joshua had continued, and Oliver looked forward to nurturing it. He returned his gaze to the script as Mr. Marley slowly advanced toward him.

Oliver flicked a glance toward him. That patient curious light again reflected from his eyes. Flipping through pages and reading words he could already recite from memory, Oliver hoped Mr. Marley would heed the nonverbal cue and leave. It was petty, but leaving before his rival was not a retreat he was prepared to make. It was bad enough that Mr. Marley would be taking Ms. McInerney with him when he finally did leave.

But Mr. Marley remained, standing and watching Oliver with that quiet curiosity.

Oliver decided to press the issue. "So I will be seeing you and Ms. McInerney later?"

"I hope so." Mr. Marley fell silent, and his gaze sharpened. "I noticed that you call Rita, Rita, but you called Shane, Ms. McInerney?" True confusion seemed to lace his question.

Oliver took in a quick breath and scratched his cheek. A small smile flickered about Mr. Marley's lips. Again, it seemed as if he saw beneath the ice around Oliver's heart. Distance. Yes. Professional distance was required for this discussion. "Yes, well … ah it started as an office formality, but … ah … just continued …" But in the face of Mr. Marley's patient interest, Oliver couldn't help but lower his guard. "… don't know exactly why I do that."

Mr. Marley's gaze glowed as a smile played about his lips. "I think you do."

Oliver's mouth dropped open.. Did he know why he did it? Was there a reason other than office formality? Perhaps another layer of protection against the Ms. McInerney feeling?

"She's a very special lady." Mr. Marley's words pierced through the whirl of Oliver's thoughts. Oliver watched him, again weighing his words. Was that a gauntlet being thrown? Was Mr. Marley more openly declaring his own interest in Ms. McInerney?

Oliver bit off his agreement with the assessment of Ms. McInerney. "Yes … she … is." And she is not your lady.

Last night's conversation had given Oliver comfort that Mr. Marley recognized Ms. McInerney's availability was restricted. But as open interest lingered in Mr. Marley's eyes, Oliver questioned that conclusion. Perhaps the man was not as honorable as he seemed? Or at least his intentions were not so honorable?

Another chunk of ice fell away from Oliver's heart. Unsettled by the sensation, he took a mental step back from the questions. Distance. Professionalism. Work. Focus on the immediate. "Well, it's almost noon, and I have one last letter to deliver."

Thankfully, Mr. Marley seemed to take his own invisible step backward. "That's right. No leftovers on Christmas Eve."

"Jordan, you coming?" Ms. McInerney's bright tones, so unlike her voice of late when she spoke with him, simmered under Oliver's skin. Mr. Marley beamed that same irritatingly interested smile and joined her.

Oliver turned and watched as she fiddled with Mr. Marley's tie and giggled her delight at the prospect of their time together. Was it possible she could ignore her connection with himself, her previous silent offering, and convince her heart to love another? Heat flashed through Oliver. Despite his blatant display of possessiveness of her—ah, their dancing—and his attempt to reconnect via their personal conversations, yes, Ms. McInerney seemed perfectly willing to move on with another man.

His stomach turned over. Was it possible he was horribly and absolutely wrong and that she could indeed become Mr. Marley's lady? Was their verbal sparring moments ago her own way of putting distance between herself and Oliver? What would their partnership look like if she began a relationship with someone else while he continued to wait for Holly's reply? Would it become snippier? Would it even last at all?

His fingers clenched around the script. The paper bit into his palm, tugging his thoughts back to the matter at hand. Hannah. This child. Focus on the work. Oliver again tucked his growing concerns back behind the wall of ice, grabbed his coat, and headed out the door.

##

Hours later, Oliver sat alone in the chapel, grasping for emotional purchase in the whirl of Mr. Marley's revelation. The man was not a troubleshooter for the post office. Not a rival for Ms. McInerney's affections. And was very likely not a man at all. As Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had written, "Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth."

Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some have unwittingly entertained angels. The verse from Hebrews floated up from his memory. No, Mr. Marley was not a man. He was in fact, an angel. And one sent by God to Oliver. Not once but twice. To bring comfort. Healing. And even direction. Exactly the role of a heavenly messenger.

Oliver closed his eyes and took in a long, steadying breath. As he blew it out, the irritation and ire of late slowly eased away. He was seen. His was known. He was held. Peace settled over his heart followed by an odd sense of relief. He turned to the gold cross on the side table, nodded, then whispered, "Thank You."

A deep, pure love washed through him, lifting his lips.

Oliver shifted on the bench seat, returning his gaze to the letter where it lay on the pew back. You take good care of that little letter writer. Someone else also needed to know they were seen, known, held.

But first, there was a little girl who dreamed of being a shepherd in a Christmas pageant. Taking in another deep, cleansing breath, Oliver stood and, with a final thankful look to the cross, headed out to the lobby. When he reached it moments later, he found Norman dressed in full Joseph regalia but frantically searching for something.

"Oliver! Shane not only won't wear her halo now she's gone."

Oliver placed a steady hand on Norman's shoulder. "You take care of getting the rest of the group assembled, I'll locate Ms. McInerney."

Norman nodded, took in a quick breath, then turned back and began pointing out the locations for the rest of the cast on the make-shift stage.

Oliver's first instinct directed him toward the ladies' convenience. Perhaps Ms. McInerney needed its facilities one last time before the pageant started. But a moment later, she rushed through the exterior doors, a white sheepskin draped over her arm.

Concern rippled through him. What could have taken her outside? "Ms. McInerney, we were worried about you."

Breathless and cheeks brightened by the cold, she stopped in front of him and ran a hand over the sheepskin. "I had a last-minute wardrobe challenge." Relief and a bit of personal pride radiated from her gaze.

"Ah, yes, well, you do look very … ah …" beautiful. In fact, with the natural brightness of her cheeks and the shimmer of the satin, she was perhaps even more so than the night of the postal ball. But Oliver could not tell her that. Not with so much distance between them. Perhaps a word more fitting for the context would be welcome? "… celestial."

She chuckled, but before she could say anything else, he spotted the bare space around her neck. Her prized possession was once more absent. "But … ah … did you lose your necklace again?"

"No. I know exactly where it is."

Frustration blended with the pride. Was that perhaps why she carried the sheepskin? Had she sacrificed her most valued treasure for another's good? Oliver pondered the possibility as she stepped around him.

"And I have about five minutes to get a sheep—what's that?"

Oliver turned as his gaze dropped to his hands. "Oh, this is the … letter … I tried to deliver today."

Ms. McInerney's brow wrinkled in confusion. "You didn't? But you-you always do."

"Yes. Well. Not this time." Oliver's heart clenched. "What's most important now is that somewhere out there tonight, there is a fatherless child waiting for an answer to this who's thinking that God doesn't care or that maybe God … doesn't exist at all. But I have the answer right here in my hand, I just ran out of time."

"I'm sorry, Oliver."

Her soft reply eased between them, encouraging him to bare a bit more of his heart. Perhaps in this heartbreak they could return to their own previous closeness. The closeness he hadn't realized he'd missed until it was gone. "It just breaks my heart … what happens to the spirit of a child who's been hurt like that."

Her gaze softened under his heartfelt words, and she seemed to take a tentative emotional step toward him. "Well, I'll tell you. She cries for … about six months. And then after about a year, she stops looking out the window every time a car pulls up. And her heart kind of freezes …"

Oliver absorbed her soft words, and slowly awareness dawned. His eyes dropped to the letter. You take good care of that little letter writer.

"And if she's not careful, she turns into kind of a Scrooge and rejects God and Christmas and …"

"Goes around saying 'bah, humbug'?"

Her lips flinched in a sad smile. "Yeah."

You … take good care ... Certainty firmed in Oliver's mind. Ms. McInerney, Shane, was Crackers. The little letter writer.

And then she confirmed it herself, wordlessly but definitely. Fleeing the truth, trying to distance herself from the childhood pain that dogged her still as an adult. But as Oliver found her upstairs and bared his own heart as best he could, her anger seemed to melt away.

"And then there's me. This odd fellow, who loves … words, and books, and things of the past. And has spent his life trying to find a future with someone in it to share it with. I haven't been very successful with that yet. I'm not perfect."

But she needed to hear more. She needed to know the offer was for something greater than his own heart. She needed real Truth.

"But through it all I've learned how to hold firm in a storm. Not by holding on to whatever I can find for as long as I can. But by trusting that the one thing that matters in this world will never let go of me. And Shane, that's what perfect love is."

She sniffed and blinked, spilling tears down her cheeks. Any love he felt for her would never be perfect. But there was One whose love was perfect. And his love could heal the hole inside her. And give her hope for a future. Give them both hope for a future.

"Perfect love casts out all that pain. All that fear. And replaces it with hope. And hope is what you were asking for in that letter. And every Christmas since, hope is what you have been given. Don't you see it?"

Hope filled Shane's eyes, drowning out the tears.

Please keeping hoping. I can't yet. But one day …

"It's right here for you."

Shane stood on her tip-toes and pressed a tear-dampened kiss to his cheek. But as she wrapped her arms around him, a relieved sigh puffed between his lips. He hadn't lost her. She heard him, heard the words beneath the words. Heard his heart's cry for her. There was still hope.

##

Pageant concluded, Hannah's wish bestowed, and his team successfully dispatched on their own Christmas destinations, Oliver walked the empty streets of downtown Denver headed to his second home. The O'Toole family home, while comforting in its heritage and familial bonds, would not provide the solace he sought. Solace of his chosen family and their familiar surroundings. Spotlights gleamed up ahead of him catching his eye. A church and a manger scene.

He paused as he considered the wooden cut-outs of the holy family. Mr. Marley was correct. Christmas, like the Christ child, was a gift. And it was a gift for which he was incredibly grateful. A blast of the chilled breeze cut across the back of his neck, sending a shiver through him. He needed to keep moving. Keep searching for a cabbie. Despite the date and the late hour, someone must still be driving.

But as he gave the manger scene a final long look, his gaze caught and held on one particular figure. The angel. A blond woman. And his mind returned to Shane standing across from him as he spoke of perfect love, as he lay what he could of his heart before her.

That disconcerting McInerney sensation melted through him. And he realized that the deep personal feeling did have its own name. It was love. He loved her. Shane McInerney. With a love that he'd never felt for Holly.

But still, he could do nothing about it without word from Holly. His limbo would continue for the near future, only now with potentially more pain. Married to a woman who must not love him and unable to fully embrace the woman who obviously did. As he walked away from the manger scene, from the angel, he couldn't help but feel he was once again stepping back from Shane, Ms. McInerney.

Please, Lord, walk with me through this time.

A gentle whisper of assurance flickered through him. And then bright headlights appeared up the street. Oliver flagged down the cabbie with a small smile. A blast of warm welcoming air hit his skin as he opened the door and answered the man's boisterous greeting with a nod.

"What are you doing walking out here this time 'a night in this cold?"

Oliver slipped into the worn leather seat and released a relieved sigh. "I was cleaning up after a Christmas pageant at a hospital, and by the time I was finished there was no one available to drive me home."

The man nodded and flipped a toggle on the dash. "So, where ya' headed?"

Oliver settled his coat under and around him. "Ah, the Denver Main Post Office at Alameda and Downing."

"Get ya' there in no time." The cabbie tapped the meter, and the glowing red lights flipped over calculating the fare.

Oliver buckled his seatbelt then paused as a glint of gold dangling from the cabbie's rearview mirror caught his eye. His mouth dropped open. Could it really be? "I'm sorry, but might I ask about the item hanging from your rearview mirror?"

The cabbie chuckled then brushed his thick fingers against the thin gold disc. The lights from the meter glinted against the metal and shone through the crystal bead that hung alongside the pendant. "Dangdest thing. This lady dressed up in an angel costume runs out of the hospital where I'm parked waitin' for fares and wants to buy my sheepskin seat cover. When she doesn't have the cash for it, she offers to trade her necklace."

Joy coursed through Oliver, heady and ethereal. He might not be able to accept Ms. McInerney's heart yet, but perhaps he could also return something else she treasured. He pulled out his wallet. "Sir, I would like to buy it from you."